


Come Back To Me

by a_splash_of_stucky



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Demonic Possession, Exorcisms, F/M, Halloween, Possessed Bucky Barnes, Purging, Witch!Reader, Witchcraft, i guess?, idk i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 11:18:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12530128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_splash_of_stucky/pseuds/a_splash_of_stucky
Summary: Purging Bucky of the Hydra’s presence.





	Come Back To Me

**Author's Note:**

> For [this](http://rotisserierogers.tumblr.com/post/165308026288/kumis-halloween-challenge/) halloween writing challenge. My prompt was #38: A chalice of blood rests on the ground, surrounded on either side by lit candles - the ritual was never meant to be done, much less completed. It’s in bold somewhere in the fic.
> 
> This was so much fun to do! I’ve written it in a rather abstract way, very different to my other pieces — hopefully my concept comes through and it all makes sense. As always, I’d love to hear your feedback!

There once existed a force so dark and powerful, it corrupted everything it touched.

It was known as the Hydra.

The Hydra could not be described as a  _being_ , per se. It was an entity of pure chaos, originating from the dark-realm, the most evil of the four realms of magic. The Hydra lacked a physical body, which in turn made it that much more dangerous; it wreaked havoc by touching the minds of its victims, planting seeds of dark energy deep within their innermost thoughts. These seeds then grew into foreboding trees of destruction and eventually, the trees formed a forest — an army of dark, mind-controlled soldiers, who waged a long and arduous battle against the witch-folk.

Thankfully, the Hydra has long since been dead and with it, most of its soldiers.

But with that being said, a part of its dark force still remains.

Seventy years ago, the love of your life suffered a fate worse than death. Bucky’s mind and body were taken captive when he was possessed by the Hydra. The exact mechanism of the possession remain a mystery to you and your friends; Wanda’ best guess is that the Hydra cleaved off a part of its dark essence and placed it inside Bucky. This meant the whilst the Hydra was still alive, it could use this artificial bond to control Bucky, turning him into the fabled Winter Soldier.

Now, with the Hydra gone, Bucky is slowly regaining control over himself. But, progress has been slow, hindered by the lingering remnants of the Hydra’s essence inside him. He is still prone to turning into the Winter Soldier without a moment’s notice, endangering all those around him.

Tonight is the last night of the tenth month, commonly referred to as Halloween.

For the human-folk, it is a night of spooky festivities, where children dress up in costumes and walk through their streets, knocking on doors and calling ‘trick-or-treat’ in cheerful voices. It is a night of horror-filled fun.

For the witch-folk, the last night of the tenth month has a far more significant meaning; it is a time for ancient, powerful and most of all,  _difficult_ spells to be cast.  

If you are to have any hope at healing Bucky, the ritual must be performed tonight.

You finish tying the sash on your navy blue ceremonial robes, then step out of the bathroom. Bucky is sitting on the bed, clothed in nothing but a pair of white linen pants, head held in his hands. He looks up when you come in, allowing you to see the dark rings under his eyes and the grim set of his jaw; Bucky is downright terrified, though you can tell that he is trying hard to disguise his fear.

The thing is, you’ve known him for an eternity. You’ve seen what he looks like when he’s staring death in the face, know with intimate familiarity the slant of his mouth and the curl of his cheekbones, and understand what it means when the muscles in his cheek twitch a certain way. Bucky’s like an open book to you and right now, all you’re reading is sheer terror.

You come to stand between his spread thighs. Bucky places his hands on your hips — one flesh, one metal — and tips his head back to look up at you. Your right hand cradles his cheek and he leans into the caress, eyelashes grazing the tops of his cheekbones as his eyes slip shut.

“Come back, okay?” you breathe, voice barely audible despite the stillness in the room.

“I might not,” Bucky murmurs, turning his head to press a kiss on your palm.

“Try,” you plead.

Bucky doesn’t respond to that. His silence is promise enough.

“You’re ready?” you ask.

He nods, opening his eyes once more. There is nothing left to be said.

Bucky follows you out of the cottage. You lead him down the cobbled path in the back garden, through the gate and further still, into the depths of the forest. The route is familiar, even in the cover of night; you and Steve have made this journey so many times, you’re confident that you could do it with your eyes closed. Though you hear no footfalls behind you, no crunch of leaves or snap of twigs, you know that Bucky is matching your every step.

After what feels like an eternity, the dense shrubbery gives way to a clearing. Wanda and Steve are already there, heads bowed in conversation. Wanda looks stunning, her long hair woven into an intricate braid down her back, her scarlet robes billowing about her petite figure. Steve, by contrast, is swathed in robes of majestic emerald, emphasising the pale shine of his blonde hair in the moonlight.

What the three of you are about to attempt to do tonight is beyond risky; it’s life-threatening.

For one thing, you don’t know if Bucky will survive the process. Possessions are almost unheard of in witch-history — very few have attempted the process, as the risks far outweigh the possible rewards. Most people cannot bear the burden on an evil entity in their mind for long; they go crazy from it, often killing themselves to put a stop to their suffering.

The very fact that Bucky is still alive, despite having this dark energy plaguing him for seventy years is both troubling and reassuring. You don’t know who widely the Hydra’s energy has infected him, how deeply it has ingrained itself into his very bones.

Tonight, you’ll be attempting to rid Bucky of every last trace of the Hydra’s presence. You walk to the centre of the clearing, where Wanda and Steve have already set everything up.  **A chalice of blood rests on the ground, surrounded on either side by lit candles — the ritual was never meant to be done, much less _completed,_** and that fact makes you particularly uneasy. No one — that you’re aware of, at least — has ever attempted this ritual in all of witch-folk’s history.

The blood in the chalice is Bucky’s, collected from him earlier this evening. The chalice is about two feet high, made of pure gold and ornately decorated with intricate carvings and precious gems, that sparkle in the dim candlelight. There is a line of fifteen candles on either side of the chalice, forming a path of sorts. At the end of that path, on the far side of the chalice, is a simple stone altar, upon which rests Wanda’s leather-bound spell book as well as a single candle; thirty-one candles in total, to signal the thirty-one nights of the tenth month.

Steve and Wanda walk over to you, Bucky trailing along behind them. He’s more agitated now, fidgeting nervously with the ties on his pants.

“A few more minutes,” Wanda says, “We should prepare ourselves,”.

All of you take your places; Wanda behind the stone altar, you and Steve on the opposite end of the candle pathway. Bucky lies down in front of the chalice on the side nearest to you, his head near one row of candles, his bare feet almost touching the other.

Though the four of you have discussed your plan of action for tonight extensively, a lot of uncertainty is still present.

Bucky has been possessed by magic originating from the dark-realm — one of the four realms of magic that witches and other gifted beings draw their powers from. The Hydra was, without a doubt, one of the darkest beings to ever exist on this planet, thriving solely on chaos and discord, dissonance and misery. Its essence (or rather, what’s left of it) is so powerful that it will require you, Steve and Wanda to pool all your energies together in order to rid Bucky of its presence.

Tonight, Wanda will be the one to facilitate the ritual. She draws her energies from the fire-realm, channeling the primal forces that sustain life itself; passion and strength, determination and fierce courage. Wanda will be the one to intonate the spell that will unhinge Bucky’s soul from his body and, in the process, untether the Hydra’s essence as well.

You glance to your left as Steve readjusts his robes, arranging the hood over his broad shoulders. The green colour symbolises Steve’s alignment with the earth-realm. He brings harmony and safety to this ritual, and is tasked with guarding Bucky’s physical body, preventing it from being taken over by some meddling entity whilst his soul is unhinged.

And then, there is you. Your powers are drawn from the last of the four realms, the wind-realm. Where Steve is concerned with the physical, you are concerned with the spiritual; your magic will anchor Bucky’s soul to this world, preventing him from wandering too far into the chasms of the dark-realm. You are Bucky’s beacon of stability. In the event that his soul  _does_  get lost, you are to be the one to guide him home.

(You’re still not entirely sure how that’s supposed to work, but that’s a bridge that you’ll cross when you get there. Hopefully, if all goes to plan, it’s a bridge that you won’t have to cross at all.)

The candles begin to flicker wildly, their small flames dancing in a mystical wind, glow brightening and dimming irregularly. It is the sign you’ve been waiting for; the magic in the atmosphere is at it’s peak, the highest it will be until this time next year. You can feel the magical energy surging through your veins, unbidden power that is demanding to be utilised, aching to be channelled. It’s a burn in your fingertips, a tingling in your gut. The energy is so tangible, it’s almost like a physical presence.

The ritual has to begin.

“Bucky,” Steve says softly. Bucky’s eyes are closed, but he is not asleep; you can tell this by the way his fists are clenched by his sides. His chin dips slightly, an indication that he’s heard.

“We’re going to start,”.

Bucky breathes out shakily, then gives another, terser nod.

Steve turns to you, then to Wanda, and gives a tiny jerk of his head. You hold your palms out in front of you, close your eyes and blow out a deep, fortifying breath. Wanda starts to speak, her voice a monotonous drone in a language you can’t understand. You let the energy in the atmosphere pour through your being, trickling down your veins and into your fingers.

When you open your eyes again, blue tendrils are swirling lazily around your palms, brighter and more iridescent than they normally are. Your eyes flick over to Steve and Wanda and you see that they too are channelling their powers in green and red flashes of light respectively.

Wanda’s voice begins to rise, her tone taking on a note of urgency. Instinctively, you begin to project outwards, encouraging the tendrils to uncoil from your fingers and reach out towards Wanda and Steve. Blue, red and green light all tangle together, forming a misshapen triangle over Bucky’s body.

Bucky’s eyes are shut tight and his fingers are fisting into the grass beside him. His skin is coated in a thin veil of sweat and his lips are downturned in a grimace.

The candles flicker, then go out entirely, as if a strong gust of wind has blown them all out. You don’t panic; Wanda had said that this might happen. Bathed only in the silver moonlight and the glow of your tendrils, Bucky looks eerily pale, sickly almost.

“The purging,” Steve breathes, “It’s happening. His soul’s just unhinged,”.

Even as he speaks, you feel an invisible force tugging in the back of your mind, wrestling with you for control of your body. It’s dark and foreign. Your first instinct is to recoil from it’s slimy, deathly-cold embrace, but you force yourself to remain clam, to be strong. For Bucky. His skin has gone even paler, translucent enough that you can see the network of veins beneath it.

Without warning, Bucky releases a blood-curdling scream.

The noise sends a sickening chill down your spine. It’s a sound of pure terror, conveying his anguish and torment. The word  _stop_  is on the tip of your tongue, but you reign yourself in, force yourself to keep it together. You’ve come too far now; the ritual must go on.

Bucky’s back bows off the ground, curving into an impossible angle, as if something is being yanked out of his body. He stays contorted like that for nearly a whole minute, before slumping back down, limp, like a puppet whose strings have been cut. Inside the chalice, the dark red blood darkens to an ominous shade of black. A couple of candles burst into flame, but die out a few seconds later. The wind starts to pick up — where did it even come from? — whipping around the clearing, making your robes flap around you. An uneasy chill sets in your bones. You don’t know how you know it, but something is very,  _very_  wrong.

“He’s wandering!” Wanda calls, “I can’t feel his life force, he’s gone too far!”

“You have to find him, Y/N,” Steve says urgently, turning to look at you, “Call him back,”.

“I—I don’t know—,”.

“Just try!” Steve begs, eyes wild with terror.

You wet your lips, bob your head in some semblance of a nod. If Wanda is right, then this moment is crucial. You must do everything you can to ensure that Bucky’s soul comes back safely. Closing your eyes, you let Wanda’s voice wash over you, allowing yourself to be swept away by the current of her magic. Instead of focusing on what she is saying, you direct your attention to the soles of your feet, where they touch the ground. You picture them growing roots that wind deep into the earth below, anchoring you in place. If Bucky needs help finding his way back, you must ensure that you are rooted in place, to make this process easier.

In your mind, you imagine yourself cupping a light in your hands. It is an ethereal blue, as entrancing as the colour of Bucky’s eyes. It takes all your focus to channel your magical energy into that light, coaxing it to shine brighter so that its glow may illuminate the darkness; a beacon to signal the way home.

A dark presence — probably the lingering remnants of the Hydra’s essence — lurks around the edges of your consciousness, its repulsive tentacles brushing over the periphery of your mind. It’s trying to distract you from the task at hand, but you stoically ignore it, knowing that you can’t afford to allow yourself to be pulled into the dark-realm’s evil lure.

You picture yourself stepping though a doorway, clutching the blue light in one hand. Your mind-self attempts to brush past the tendrils of darkness trying to cloud your thoughts, but they swirl around you in thick, tar-like waves of dark, oppressive energy. Mentally gritting your teeth, you forge on, going deeper and deeper into the waves in search of Bucky, willing yourself to sense his presence, his generosity, his kindness, his—

And then, you feel it

A brightness, something pure and golden and good amongst all this dark chaos. You know it’s Bucky, but where is he? How can you get to him? The only thing you  _can_ do is focus on the blue light in your hand, pouring all your energy it. It shines as bright as the sun, blinding in its intensity.

_“Y/N?”_

_“Bucky?”_ you ask — but can this be considered asking, if it’s all happening in your head? His ‘voice’ is muffled, but near, so near you can taste it.  _“Where are you? Are you—,”_

_“I’m okay,”_ he assures you, _“I—the thing, Christ, it’s gone. I got—I don’t know where it is, but it’s not with me anymore,”._

_“Come back, then,”_ you urge, _“Can you see me?”_

_“Y/N,”_ Bucky says again, but his voice is weakening, your name falling from his lips like an afterthought, the tail-end of a breath.

_“James Buchanan Barnes,”_ you growl,  _“You come here right this instant or I will haul your ass out,”._

Bucky chuckles, the sound echoing hollowly around the void, dreary and tired. _“I—don’t know how,”_ Bucky says and your heart breaks, because his voice is now even quieter, more distant. You can barely feel him now, the golden glow of his—soul, or whatever, has diminished.

_“Just find me,”_ you plead desperately, _“I’ll bring you home, or—wait, I’ll come find you,”_

_“How?”_

_“Keep talking, Bucky,”_ you say, voice sounding a little breathless inside your head as you push past the darkness,  _“Help me find you,”._

_“What do I talk about?” Bucky_  asks helplessly

_“I don’t—what are we doing?”_ you prompt.

_“Huh?_

_“When this is all over, what do you want to do?”._ The darkness surges and shifts, one moment appearing in front of you as an imposing wall, the next moment towering behind you in a threatening wave. You race towards the direction of Bucky’s voice, clinging to the blue light in your hand, hoping that he will soon be able to see it and come back to you.

Bucky laughs weakly.  _“I’d like to take a nice long bath,”_ he muses. Great, his voice has suddenly become a little less staticky, like someone’s adjusted the radio to the correct frequency. You must be getting closer.

_“Yeah? Can I join you in that?”_

_“Mm, only if we get to use the lavender bath oil,”_ Bucky jokes.

_“Done deal. What else?”_ His essence is becoming stronger, something that you can feel in your gut. It’s like his soul is becoming more solid, even as the heavy darkness around you is trying to block your path to him, trying to tear the two of you apart.

_“I dunno, really,”_ Bucky admits,  _“Food, I guess. A nice long nap,”._

You’re so  _close_. He’s there, he’s right there, his presence so strong it rivals the strength of the evil around you. Bucky is pureness and gold, sunshine on a rainy day, mirth and laughter, everything you cherish in this life and—

_“Y/N!”_ he calls,  _“I—you’re—,”._

Your heart sinks. Bucky is near but simultaneously distant, the voice speaking to you from two separate places, as if his essence has been scattered, his soul ripped apart by—whatever the hell possessed him. The golden light is right in front of you, a luminous iridescence amongst the tendrils of black. Bucky is here, but incomplete. The hand not cupping your blue light reaches out tentatively, your fingers brushing over the edge of his—soul? energy? essence?

_“Sweetheart,”_ Bucky breathes. He’s not really here, not physically anyway, but this golden  _thing_  is talking to you like he is. A distant part of your mind marvels at how crazy the situation is.

_“Come back, Bucky,”_ you whisper,  _“To me. Please?”_

_“But—I’m not all here,”_ Bucky says,  _“I don’t know, when I shook it—off, I couldn’t—it took—,”._

_“It’s okay,”_ you soothe, holding a hand out for him to hold. _“Take my hand. Let me guide you home,”._

The light hesitates, flickering and rippling agitatedly. Then, it moves, wrapping a single coil of gold around your wrist. You gasp at the contact, amazed at being connected so closely to Bucky’s innermost thoughts. The tendril holds on for a second, but is forced to let go of you, torn apart by the roiling waves swirling ever-nearer.

You need to get him out quickly.

_“Just focus on me,”_ you say to Bucky, _“Focus on_ this _,”._

The way out is calling to you, as if a thin thread ties you to the doorway you’d stepped through. You know where to go, how to push aside the darkness to get back; you’re not entirely sure  _how_  you know this, but now is not the time for questions. As you make your way back the way you came, you leave a trail of memories behind you for Bucky to follow, like a path of breadcrumbs. Hopefully, the parts of his essence scattered about this god-forsaken wasteland will be able to latch onto them to find their way home.

It is a mixed-bag of memories you leave behind.

You and Bucky curled up in bed together, your leg slung around his waist, Bucky’s nose pressed to the hollow of your throat.

The next one is of him tackling Steve to the floor in a playful tussle, Steve’s eyes going comically wide in surprise.

Another one of you and Bucky, this time sitting side-by-side on the roof of your cottage, gazing up at the stars.

You leave as many memories as you can think off, pulling them out from all corners of your mind and dropping them in your wake. You’re desperately hoping that you’re going about this the right way. The golden light continues to float behind you, so that has to be a good sign.

The doorway you’d envisioned looms ahead. You can feel the darkness swooping in, making one last-ditch attempt to draw Bucky back into the clutches of the dark-realm. Its efforts are futile, though, because now that Bucky — or, at least, Bucky’s essence — has something to latch onto, it has gotten stronger.

In an effort to help him ward off the dark energy — and, possibly, pull together the dregs of his consciousness still floating around — the last few crumbs you leave for him to follow are of memories not yet made.

They are images of you and Bucky as you hope to see him on your wedding day, smiling and joyous, dressed in ceremonial robes of white. It’s Bucky with your future child in his arms, a smile playing on his lips, looking tired but satisfied as he leans against the headboard. You picture your future together, your future with  _him_  — because, damn it, you  _will_  be together, you  _will_ get him out of this, even if it’s the last thing—

“Y/N!” Wanda yells.

Your eyes snap open. The darkness is gone, replaced by acres of greenery in every direction you turn. Your heart is pounding in your chest and you will it to slow down, taking in deep draws of air to calm yourself. As you cast your gaze over the clearing, you see that the candles have come back on, and Steve is crouching beside Bucky. Wanda runs over to you, one hand outstretched to help you stand up — when did you sit down?

“Are you okay?’ she asks worriedly, checking over you for external injuries, “Are you—what d’you—,”

“I’m fine,” you assure her, brushing her hand away, “Bucky?”

Wanda moves aside, allowing you to rush over to him. You collapse onto your knees beside Steve. Bucky’s skin is still deathly pale, though not as sickly-looking as it was before.

“He’s breathing,” Steve says gently, “And it worked. Whatever you did, he’s back—,”

Steve is cut off when Bucky let out a long, low moan. His head lolls to the side and he cracks his eyes open into thin slits. “Y/N?” he croaks.

“I’m right here,” you reply immediately, placing your hand on the centre of his chest. “Right here, sweetheart,”.

“We did it,” Bucky murmurs, one side of his mouth crooking up into a half-smile. “It’s gone, I can’t…god, it’s so much quieter now, I can’t feel it anymore,”.

Wanda makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat and Steve whistles through his teeth. Bucky motions for you to come closer with a jerk of his head.

You lean over him, turning your ear to his mouth. Bucky’s hot breath ghosts over the side of your cheek. “I  _saw_ ,” Bucky whispers, awe evident in his tone, “I saw you, at the end…the wedding, and the baby and—that wasn’t real, right?”

“No,” you breathe, smiling to yourself as you turn to look into his eyes, “But I’d like it to be,”.

Bucky’s hands come up to cup your face, drawing you nearer so that he can press a tender, reverent kiss to your lips. “I love you. Thank you,” he says fiercely.

“I know. You came home to me,”.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to reblog this post on [tumblr!](https://a-splash-of-stucky.tumblr.com/post/166870577925/come-back-to-me/)
> 
> And whilst you're there, why don't you stick around and say hi ;)


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